


He knew

by stilesstilerstyle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Gags, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:38:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2245932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilesstilerstyle/pseuds/stilesstilerstyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home after a long day. And as always he can't refuse to help Sherlock with an experiment.<br/>But things get out of hand very quickly and John finds that he cannot get out once he accepted to assist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He knew

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what I was trying. I suppose it was just a pathetic attempt at quelling my own sick need for this. If I've made any mistakes, please let me know.  
> But now enjoy. :)

He knew it would happen. He just didn’t know when and how. That was the thrill of it.

 

* * *

 

 John came up the stairs of the flat, key in hand. He was tired, and all he wanted to do was fall into his bed and drift off into blissful sleep.

 

He pushed the door open, and his eyes wandered over the mess that they always had in their flat. Then he saw a huge bag standing on the floor beside the sofa.

And on the sofa there was Sherlock, lying down, his hands underneath his chin, his thinking pose. He was wearing his pyjama bottoms, a t-shirt and is blue robe.

 

John took off his coat and threw it over the back of his chair.

 

“You’re home. Then I can start.”

 

John turned to look at his flatmate who had suddenly started to speak. “Hello to you too. What can you start?”

 

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes and turned to look at John.

 

“My experiment.”

 

John narrowed his eyes. “Right. What experiment?” He made his way over to the sofa, to peek inside the bag. His eyes widened when he saw rope, a lot of rope.

 

“What’s the rope for? Are you going to span it over the street and try to walk on it?”

 

John turned his back to Sherlock, walking towards the kitchen to make tea.

 

He whirled around when he suddenly heard Sherlock’s voice right behind him. “Not exactly.”

 

John took a step back to get some space between himself and Sherlock. “Then what do you intend to do with it?”

 

“I am going to tie you up with it.”

 

John snorted out a laugh. The amusement faded though when Sherlock looked back at him with a serious expression.

 

John frowned. “No you’re not. In the end you’re just going to leave me tied up, and leave for the night, and I’ll have no way of getting into bed and some sleep. So no. The answer is no, you’re not going to tie me up.”

 

Sherlock suddenly looked irritated. “But it’s important.”

 

“No, Sherlock.” John turned away from Sherlock to get to the kitchen.

 

“Please John.” Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder held him back. “I promise, I won’t leave you alone and it won’t take long. It’s really important that you help me.”

 

John couldn’t believe himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed, and turned to his flatmate again.

 

“Fine. But if I tell you to untie me immediately you’ll have to, alright?”

 

Sherlock nodded. Something almost like eagerness was mirrored in Sherlock’s eyes.

 

“You might want to put on something a bit more comfortable first. A t-shirt and shorts. But hurry.”

 

John shook his head. And made his way to his bedroom. He longed for a cup of tea, but there was still time for that after Sherlock’s experiment. The tiredness had somehow receded a bit.

 

He took off his jumper, shirt and jeans, and put on a light grey t-shirt, and a pair of blue shorts.

 

Now barefoot he went to the bathroom to use the loo. When he finished he went back the living room, to find Sherlock standing in the centre, rope in his big elegant hands. And John would found that his flatmate looked almost giddy.

 

John furrowed his brow, but he grinned.

 

“Alright, let’s make this quick, so I can still get a bit of sleep before tomorrow. How would you like me?”

 

Immediately after he said the last sentence he realized that it sounded a bit ambiguous. He blushed and he saw how Sherlock had started grinning. “Oi! I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

Sherlock chuckled and made a step towards John with the rope in hand. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

 

John did as he was told. Sherlock’s hand brushed across his as the rope was laid around his wrists. He shivered.

 

Sherlock pulled the rope tight and made a knot. John made an attempt at wriggling his hands to see how much give there was, which was almost none. He hissed at the burn of the rope against his skin.

 

He felt Sherlock’s hot breath against his neck and heard the deep baritone of his flatmate: “Alright?”

 

Slowly John nodded. There was another length of rope, now further up his arm, just above his elbows, John wasn’t sure what that was supposed to be for, but before he could think any more, the rope was pulled tight, pressing his arms together. It came unexpected and John let out a gasp.

 

The strain on his shoulders was uncomfortable and painful. “What the hell Sherlock?” His breathing was ragged.

 

There was no answer and John let out a small cry when the rope was pulled even tighter, his elbows were almost touching now, which resulted in John having to arch his back, and stick out his chest.

 

He clenched his hands to fists. The rope held tight around his arms. “Sherlock, stop! Take it off, it hurts!”

 

John pressed his eyes shut and ground his teeth, waiting for his flatmate to cut the rope and release him, but nothing happened. His shoulders were throbbing.

 

He turned around to look at Sherlock. “What do you think you’re doing? I told you to take the fucking rope off!”

 

When John saw Sherlock’s face he faltered. Sherlock’s pupils were blown wide, his eyes dark. On his lips there was something like a grin.

 

Fear started to pool in John’s stomach. He spoke softly: “Sherlock?”

 

“I can’t take it off John, my experiment is not done yet, and it is vital that I execute it to completion.”

 

John took a step back. He glared at Sherlock. “Take it off now, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock crossed his arms on his chest, from one hand there were still dangling different lengths of rope. “No.”

 

John gulped and took another step back. He knew that look. Sherlock had made his decision, and once Sherlock Holmes had made a decision he didn’t change his mind.

 

What if John had said no from the beginning? Would Sherlock have let off him? Or would he have tackled him and just done it anyway? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he now was in that situation and that he wanted to get out of it. Desperately.

 

Should he fight? With his arms behind his back he had the clear disadvantage. He would never be able to beat Sherlock. Should he run? The door was still open, he could try to run down the flight of stairs, but the front door was closed, and he would have no way of opening it.

 

All he could hope for, was, that Mrs Hudson was home, and that she would hear his shout for help and call Lestrade. That was his only option. He didn’t want to put Mrs Hudson in danger, but he didn’t have any other choice.

 

John observed Sherlock’s every move. Sherlock did the same with John. The grin faded from Sherlock’s face and he slowly moved his free hand into the pocket in his gown.

 

John’s eyes darted from Sherlock’s face to the hand now disappearing in the gown.

He had to take his chance now, as long as he still had it.

 

He took a deep breath and shouted as loud as he could: “HELP! MRS HUD…”

 

He didn’t get any further. Sherlock had pounced on John as soon as he had opened his mouth. On the floor he found himself again, he was lying face down, and a hand was clamped over his lips, sealing them.

 

John grunted in pain. Sherlock was pinning him down, his arms between him and his own back. He couldn’t help but scream in agony. But all he could hear were muffled sounds coming from behind Sherlock’s hand.

 

This could not be happening to him. All he had wanted to do was go to bed and sleep. And now he was lying on the floor of their flat, his arms, tied tightly behind his back, and in the grasp of his apparently crazy flatmate.

 

He heard Sherlock speaking gently to him through the haze of pain: “Calm down John. Mrs Hudson can’t know about this experiment, or all the data is contaminated.”

 

John could barely breathe. His vision was already getting blurry. He barely felt how he was turned onto his back, besides the dull ache spiking in his shoulders again.

 

But he was able to breathe again, he gulped in a few precious and sweet breaths of air, his eyes were closed, so he didn’t see it coming. Something was pressed between his lips and teeth. Something round. His eyes flew open, as the main source of air was cut off once again. He had to concentrate to breathe through his nose.

 

His vision got clearer again, and he looked up at Sherlock, who was sitting on his thighs, he lifted John’s head up a bit, clasping together the straps of what must have been a ball gag. So that’s what Sherlock had reached for.

 

He groaned, lips stretching over the ball.

 

“Now John, are you going to behave?” Sherlock looked down at John, and this time he was sure that the dilation of Sherlock’s pupils was indicating arousal. He could not only see it in his eyes, but he could feel it against his thigh.

 

His eyes widened and he started shaking his head. Sherlock wouldn’t.

 

Would he?

 

John gasped when felt the sting of a slap on his left cheek. Apparently that hadn’t been a rhetorical question.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me?” Sherlock didn’t like to repeat himself.

 

All John could do was growl and glare. He was not going to give in just like that. He shook his head and bucked his hips, trying to get Sherlock to get off of him.

 

Sherlock’s smile grew wider. “Oh I was hoping that you would fight. That makes it a lot more fun.”

 

As much as John tried to make sounds loud enough for Mrs Hudson to hear, he couldn’t manage anything louder than a grunt. He dug his teeth into the rubber ball.

 

Finally Sherlock stood up, relieving the pressure on John’s shoulders.

 

John tried to get some leverage to push himself up, but with his arms trapped beneath him, he had no way of getting his feet under him.

 

He looked up at Sherlock, who was grinning down at the squirming John. Finally he bent down and lifted John up, to a standing position. John’s knees were wobbly, and Sherlock was the only thing keeping him from falling down again.

 

He still tried to worm out of Sherlock’s grasp. But the long fingers around his arms were too strong.

 

At last John tried to take his last shot at getting away. He shot his knee upwards, he was just standing right to get Sherlock were it would hurt. But instead of hitting him, his knee was blocked by Sherlock’s leg, who had seen the attack coming.

 

John tried to curse the man he trusted, the man who had just simply taken everything he had ever given him and smashed it against the wall, until there were only tiny pieces left.

 

Still glaring at the taller man, the curses he tried to spit were muffled: “Guu fckr.”

 

He had still more to say, but his protests were cut short when he felt one of Sherlock’s hands leave their place from John’s arm and move down to cup his cock through his shorts.

 

He gulped in a deep breath and felt a flush creep up his cheeks, and to his complete and utter mortification he felt how he was getting hard underneath those long and skilled fingers.

 

This was not all right. How could a man, who was sexually assaulting him without his consent, be arousing him? He shook his head continually as his cock grew harder. He pressed his eyes shut, but he could still hear the dark chuckle from his mad flatmate.

 

“Don’t deny it. You want this as much as I do. Maybe even more.”

 

John was shocked at himself when he heard a moan slip from behind the gag. He did NOT want this.

 

His eyes flew open when Sherlock turned him around forcefully and started shoving him towards his bedroom.

 

He dug his heels into the floor, because he knew, that if he didn’t get out of this right now, the night would end with him lying face down in the duvet, his arse raised high up in the air and being fucked into the mattress.

 

He would not deny that he had often thought about what it would be like to see the genius’ long pale cock, and what it would feel like inside of him, but this was not how he wanted it to be.

 

Tears were welling up in his eyes, and he barely even felt how something long was pushed between his trembling fingers.

 

He heard the low whisper in his ear as he was pushed further down the hall, only a few feet away from the door to doom: “You know what to do.”

 

Yes he did indeed. New found strength welled up inside of him. If Sherlock wanted to have him, he would have to carry him to bed.

He turned his shoulder abruptly to the right, taking Sherlock off guard, being able to squeeze by him. He ran as fast as he could towards the staircase.

 

The chance of falling was so much more appealing than being taken by force.

 

His foot was on the first step when he felt the long arms loop around his waist, and he was lifted up. He thrashed and screamed, hoping, praying that any sound whatsoever would find their way into Mrs Hudson’s ears.

 

Sherlock carried him without much effort, which only let John’s spirit sink further. He was completely out of breath when they arrived in Sherlock’s bedroom.

 

He was dumped unceremoniously on the bed, and he heard the lock on the door click. And then he knew that he was done.

 

He turned his head to the side, smearing drool over the duvet, gasping for breath. His hand was still clutched tightly around the lengthy thing in his fingers.

 

Watching how Sherlock stalked closer, savouring every step as he drew nearer his shaking and trembling prey.

 

“I knew you would take some convincing, but that you would be so resourceful still surprised me. But that can’t go unpunished, now can it?”

 

John wriggled on the bed, his arms, shoulders and jaw were aching. He wished they would be the only parts to be aching at the end of the night.

But the visible bulge in Sherlock’s pyjama pants was telling a different story.

 

Sherlock’s fingers found their way down and he was palming himself through the thin layer of fabric. John sobbed as he watched.

 

The bed dipped underneath Sherlock’s weight, as he clambered onto it, and out of John’s sight. Not being able to see the threat only made John more panicky. He shivered as his hips were lifted up and pillows were shoved underneath him to support his pelvis, keeping his arse raised far up in the air and his face pressed against the duvet. Exactly how he knew it would happen.

 

He dug his teeth into the rubber of the ball, trying to think of being somewhere else, in his own bed, or in surgery. Anywhere but here.

 

He was successful for about half a second, until he felt how the waistband of his shorts was gripped tightly and pulled down, slowly, so John could feel every bit of the cold air hitting now the only remaining layer of clothing covering his arse.

 

The blush was rising to his cheeks again and he could feel the burn. Why did he have to wear his red pants today of all days.

 

He heard a theatrical gasp from Sherlock. “Oh naughty doctor. What’s this? A gift for me? How thoughtful of you.”

 

The shorts were removed completely. He could feel something anticipation pool in his belly. Only one layer of clothing away from Sherlock seeing him completely.

 

He had closed his eyes long ago, tried to ignore the unpleasant wetness of the drool stained duvet under his cheek.

 

A warm gentle hand found its way down John’s spine, almost caressing, careful not to touch his bound arms.

 

The other hand was now on his arse, kneading his buttocks through the thin layer of fabric. He groaned around the gag. Why was Sherlock making this last longer than necessary? Was he trying to torture John even more?

 

He flinched when the hand found its way to John’s still hard cock. He had almost forgotten, but the ghosting touch had him throbbing. He was ashamed of himself, even though he knew that his body was most of the problem, he wouldn’t have been hard, if he hadn’t been aroused the least bit.

 

“Someone’s eager. It wouldn’t do to let you wait, now would it?” John pressed his eyes shut as he felt his pants being pulled down to his ankles, and then they were gone.

 

He could feel Sherlock’s roaming gaze, as the hand from his back moved to push his legs further apart. Spread wide, there was nothing hidden from the genius now.

 

His breathing was ragged, as he tried to suck in air.

 

“So beautiful.” John jumped at the feeling of a finger at his entrance.

 

He swallowed deeply, waiting for Sherlock’s next move.

 

His shirt was pushed up underneath his arms, until his chest was bare and pressed against the mattress.

 

A finger, now slick returned, slowly pushing in. John groaned at the unwelcome intrusion. It was a slow and deep burn. The finger was pushed deeper and pulled out again and then a second one was added.

 

John writhed underneath the deep reaching sensation. He felt his cock twitch against his own volition.

 

“You have no idea how long I have wanted you like this.” Sherlock’s normally calm voice had a ragged edge to it. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and John was almost sure that he could also hear a smile in his words.

 

All he could do was grunt as a third finger was added, pumping in and out scissoring, preparing John for what was to come next.

 

And all too soon the fingers were removed and replaced with a more blunt pressure against John’s hole.

 

“Now I can take you. Now you are mine.” With the last word Sherlock slid his cock past the tight ring of muscles, pushing John forward and down into the duvet, moaning. Inch for inch he pushed deeper, all the way to the hilt.

 

Sherlock’s hands had come to a rest on John’s hips, nails digging in. John could hear him gasping.

 

“You are mine!” Sherlock slid back and then slammed right back in, all the way to the hilt, hitting John’s prostate. He whimpered underneath Sherlock.

 

Sherlock repeated his action, always brushing against John’s prostate. He was sobbing and whimpering. He didn’t want this, but oh he did.

 

Again and again Sherlock slammed against John, and he whispered the words over and over. “My John. Mine. Mine.”

 

John was so close now, he was on the edge, and when Sherlock’s right hand left his hip to encircle John’s rock hard cock, there was only need for one stroke and then John came, all over the pillows and the duvet. He cried out, Sherlock’s name muffled behind the gag.

 

John’s inner muscles clenched as the sweet bliss overcame him, leaving him panting. Sherlock was now pumping in and out of John in shallow strokes, always burying himself to the hilt, and not long after it was John’s name, which was cried out as he spilled himself into the smaller man.

 

He collapsed onto John's back, trapping his arms between their heaving and panting bodies.

 

Finally Sherlock pushed himself up right, leaving a gentle and sweet kiss on John’s shoulder. He pulled out carefully before moving to unbuckle the gag.

 

John moved his aching jaw, while Sherlock removed the ropes, which had been digging into his skin for a long while now, the blood flooding back made John groan, but he was glad that he was able to move them again.

 

He had his eyes closed, turning on his back, a smile on his lips. He felt Sherlock’s warm body lay down beside his.

Finally John opened his eyes to look at his lover.

 

Sherlock’s grey eyes looked back at him, a smile was also on his lips. “Good?”

 

John grinned and nodded. “Very good.” He lifted his hand up, which was still holding the object.

 

He slowly opened his fingers to see the clip of his Sig Sauer in his hand. He chuckled. A clip filled with bullets as a dead man’s switch. How very fitting of Sherlock Holmes.

 

He curled up beside his mad genius, smiling against his chest. Letting long forgotten sleep take over his heavy limbs. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it. If I made any grave mistakes, please let me know, especially when they are about the rp-attire. I got all my information off of the internet.  
> Kudos and Comments are highly appreciated. :) Thank you guys for reading this.


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